


Ivan and the Nutcracker

by GarGoyl



Series: BringBackHetalia Prompts&One-shots [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Banter, Christmas Fluff, Comedy, Funny, Ivan and the Baltics are stupid, Ivan can't flirt to save his life, M/M, References to The Nutcracker, Smoking, Winter, because he is check the wikipedia, blizzard, did you know that the Nutcracker is Prussian?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 10:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21493030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: While struggling to come up with a Christmas story, creative writer Ivan Braginski discovers the 'magic of Christmas'. Or something like that.
Relationships: Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)
Series: BringBackHetalia Prompts&One-shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1399051
Kudos: 20





	Ivan and the Nutcracker

Ivan is late.

As he walks hurriedly down the crowded street clutching the strap of his messenger bag tightly (because you couldn’t find a taxi to save your life in this weather) his phone keeps vibrating inside his coat pocket. Contrary to what everyone thinks, Ivan hates mornings. And winter. He hates winter mornings especially.

He barely woke up today, swore loudly because the heating wasn’t working (again), then dawdled uselessly around the house for almost an hour before getting anything done, such that by the time he left there were already five missed calls from Natalya.

When he reaches his office, his pant legs are wet and sticking uncomfortably to his skin and his desk is flooded with a shit-ton of Christmas-y props, probably dumped there by the creative team of the fashion department. Cue dark suspicion that Natalya had a hand in this, since he was late right on the big day of her first major photoshoot.

“Vanya! _You’re late_!”

“I know,” the ashen blond grumbles, ignoring the ominous tapping of his little sister’s stiletto boots as he leans to pick an empty cardboard box off the floor and begins to toss the props back into it. “The subway was packed, I had to walk here.”

“It’s kind of obvious,” Natalya points with a scowl. “Anyway, you can do that later, now I need you to see the set! I told you that I want your opinion!”

And so, before he can get to dig up his laptop from the pile, Ivan gets dragged out of the open space and down the hallway to the large room at the end of it.

“I was really planning to do an outside shoot because the snow was just perfect, in a garden somewhere, but then the weather went bad and they say it won’t let up, so we had to work for two full days and almost all of last night to get the set ready instead…”

“So, what’s the theme? Winter… fantasy?” he asks cautiously, unable to help noticing the similarity between the silvery, sparkly décor and the unreasonable abundance of Frozen merch currently displayed by all supermarkets. He really hopes that’s not-

“People like fairy tales and so I chose a Christmas fairy-tale, you know? The Nutcracker!” Natalya explains excitedly. “Everybody loves the Nutcracker! But this is going to be a modern take on it, you know, like sophisticated and glam and…sexy.”

Ivan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue pensively, staring at the figure of a large, cardboard toy soldier dressed in a bright red hussar uniform, at its white beard and unkempt shock of hair peeking from under the tall hat and oversized teeth.

“But the Nutcracker is ugly…” he says in a low voice.

“Yeah, and Marie was only seven, but we’re going to pervert that into something really cool, you’ll see,” the icy blonde states with a disturbing smile. “Maybe you’ll even get inspired for your story. It’s supposed to be about the magic of Christmas, no?”

Ivan rolls his eyes. “Da, but my target audience is of all ages, so I have to keep it at least PG-13. I trust you though, Natasha, you’ll do great,” he says with a wink, trying his best to sound enthusiastic, and checks his watch. “When is it anyway?”

“14:30, the Mouse King has other appointments and delayed at the last minute. I’ll let you know.”

* * *

Ivan gets back to the task of shoving the extra, unused props back into their box, his mood gradually souring. He used to love Christmas… until last year. And now the sight of these harmless decorations causes him an almost physical discomfort. His hands have started to shake by the time he’s done and takes the box back to Natalya’s studio.

Upon his return though he finds Eduard standing by his desk and it makes him feel a bit better.

“Morning,” the young, bespectacled editor greets with his usual, soft smile. “What’s this?” he asks, holding up one piece of decoration Ivan apparently missed when clearing out the stuff. It’s a Nutcracker. 

_Great._

The ashen-blond sighs, running a hand through his hair before he remembers that his fingers are covered in sticky glitter. “The creative team of the fashion department left some stuff behind earlier… Just, uh, take it if you want?”

“Let’s go grab some coffee,” the other says, motioning with his head towards the miniscule staff kitchenette. There, he drops the Nutcracker next to the sink and proceeds to start the coffee machine. “So, how’s your story going?”

Ivan shrugs, rummaging for two clean cups into the tall cabinet. “It’s going… uh… you know. I haven’t started it.”

“Mmm… You’ll figure it out.”

“’Magic of Christmas’ my ass,” the taller blond grumbles. “Around this time last year, I was… It was right around this time that Toris told me he found someone else. Because I work too much and all that shit. But I-… I’m a writer, and writing is tough. You don’t get ideas all the time, so when you do get one you have to grab it before it slips away and-… Fuck. I don’t think I’m good at this.”

Eduard waves his hand dismissively. “I think that was just an excuse for not trying, if you ask me. Anyway, join the club. I still haven’t told my girlfriend that I went to a mosh pit last weekend with Tino and got a tooth knocked out. I’m hoping to get it fixed before she notices and I have to make up a reasonable explanation. I think she might be a little shocked otherwise, she’s not the type.”

“You’re not the type either,” Ivan points. “Why the hell did you let your cousin talk you into this? He may be interviewing heavy metal bands, but you’re working for a respectable magazine. Or so it was before I recommended my twisted little sister for the fashion editorials,” he says and they both laugh.

“Pfff… Maybe you could write a story about how most mosh clubs are still open on Christmas Eve so if someone’s tired of ‘sugar and spice and everything nice’ they can go there, get hammered on cheap booze and… I don’t know, end up in the hospital or something. I can help you with plenty of details.”

The writer nods. “Da, I could do that. Right now, I’m tempted to.”

He takes a long sip of the steaming beverage, enjoying its soothing warmth. It’s fine, he’s got another week until deadline

* * *

Their short moment of peace is over when one of the interns bounds into the small space with a happy grin on his face.

“Ivan, it’s true that you’re writing a story about the Nutcracker for the special Christmas edition?!” Raivis inquires, large blue eyes bright with excitement. “Like, a different take on it, or…?”

“No. That’s the theme of the fashion editorial. _I_ don’t have a theme yet.”

“Oh,” the petite boy deflates, his gaze trailing to the colourful toy soldier solemnly posted by the sink. “I like the Nutcracker story… How cute, is this a bottle opener?”

“It’s a nutcracker,” Eduard says.

“I can see it’s _the Nutcracker_, but what-”

“Raivis, the Nutcracker is a nutcracker, for fuck’s sake,” the editor states flatly.

Ivan bursts into laughter over the boy’s evident confusion at this. “Oh, I know – I’ll write a story about how little Marie goes to a mosh club on Christmas Eve and there she meets the Nutcracker who is actually a bottle opener! I bet kids would like that more than the actual story, it’s more relatable.”

“Or maybe a story about how the prince goes out with his friends to a mosh club, gets some teeth knocked out and when he gets home, he’s afraid of Marie, so he turns back into a Nutcracker and hides into the depths of the cupboard.”

“You dirty old men,” the intern scowls petulantly, crossing his arms. “But the Nutcracker is a great subject! I mean, there were so many movie adaptations and stuff and you can make like a whole new version of it, I guess! Like, how the Nutcracker kicks the Mouse King’s ass, so it could be like an action flick, or a romance or even a… a completely radical twist! Imagine if the Nutcracker was actually the bad guy and the Mouse King was just misunderstood and so Marie ends up with him instead.”

“I guess they should have let you do this, da. At least you’ve got more ideas.”

“Oh, I tried before and my stuff got rejected every single time,” Raivis pouts. “The boss said creative writing isn’t for me.”

Ivan throws a glance at the editor and shrugs. “I could put in a good word for you. If you can draft it in two days, I’ll look over it and you can get to co-author if it’s any good.”

The petite intern’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really?!”

“But the Nutcracker is actually a prince, he’s just cursed, while the Mouse King really is a mouse,” Eduard points and sighs. “This will end up on my desk eventually, so you two please try not to come up with something too fucked up, okay?”

* * *

Fucking Nutcracker. As if Elsa wasn’t enough, now this shit.

Speaking of, he was sure that Raivis took the damn toy soldier with him when he left, but now it sits on his desk, next to his laptop, the small and garishly painted face looking up at him somewhat reproachfully. It gives off a bad vibe.

Ivan blows a raspberry at the still empty Word document in front of him and stands up, phone in hand. He’s a great writer but an even greater procrastinator and since in the past three hours he actually took the time to read about ‘The Nutcracker and the Mouse King’ story plot on Wikipedia (and said plot turned out to be more complicated than he’d expected) and watched a short horror movie on YouTube called ‘Eve of the Nutcracker’ (thanks to which he will very likely be skipping lunch today), he’s more than ready to take a break.

Cigarettes haven’t been a thing for the last two years, but he could use one right now, so the ashen blond walks out of the offices area and to the open terrace near the reception, where hopefully someone will lend him a smoke. Outside the blizzard is still raging, but not even that is enough to deter most smokers, so Ivan opens the door to step out, bravely facing the gust of icy wind.

The first thing he lays his eyes on amidst the white flurry is a dark blue hussar uniform jacket and he flinches violently, phone dropping from his hand and splitting neatly into three parts as the case hits the snow-covered floor and the battery flies out of it.

As he automatically sinks to his knees to collect the pieces, the Nutcracker – because it _had to be _the Nutcracker, obviously! – turns towards him, a slim cigarette lit in his hand.

“You okay zhere?”

Ivan nods uncertainly, scrambling back to his feet and proceeding to dry off the pieces of his phone on his jeans. As he does so, he finally dares to take a better look at the person standing nearby, leaning against the wall. Ivan nearly expected to see the lame-looking toy soldier now grown to full size just for the sake of making his day sublimely horrible, but this man is a beauty. His silvery hair is cropped short and chic, with a side parting, a little damp from the snow since he’s not wearing a hat, and his skin is porcelain perfect, with barely a dust of pink from the cold. The reddish-purple contacts he’s wearing are a little odd, but they only add to the eerie look. 

“So… you’re the Nutcracker,” Ivan concludes, more to himself. He knows it’s stupid, but nothing else crosses his mind at the moment.

“Yeah,” the other says smoothly, and it sounds more like a ‘Ja’ than regular English.

“Can I have a smoke?” the Russian asks tentatively, taking a small step as the wind blows his overgrown bangs in his face.

The Nutcracker nods, presenting him with an open pack which also has a small lighter tucked safely inside. It’s almost weird how the blizzard seems to incumber him so little and how well he fits into the blurry, white-drowned landscape, as if he just walked out of the heart of a snowflake.

“I’m Ivan, by the way,” the writer introduces himself, wondering how to further the conversation. It’s a known fact that he can’t make small talk with strangers to save his life and this time it’s no exception.

“Gilbert,” the Nutcracker says with a small nod, taking a drag out of his cigarette. “You vith the fashion department?”

“Ah, no, no,” Ivan hurries to reply, struggling to light up. “I’m… uh… doing creative writing.” He really hopes it doesn’t sound too boring. “But I’m-… I mean, I too have to do a story about the Nutcracker for the Christmas edition.” _Which will probably suck hardcore too. God, say something else! _“Gilbert… huh. Are you Prussian too? Like the Nutcracker?” _Okay, maybe not that._

The other laughs softly. “Nah, just German zhese days,” he says and shrugs. “But zhe Nutcracker is a veird story, ja?”

“Is it?”

“Ja. I mean, zhose kids got a nutcracker for Christmas, but a nutcracker is a table decoration at most, not a toy. Zhe teeth are sharp, so a child could even hurt zhemselves if zhey put zheir finger inside. And zhere’s no need to start a var to get rid of some mice. And I don’t know, overall it’s kind of creepy.”

Ivan blinks the snow from his lashes, dwelling on the logic of that. Well. Gilbert does have a point, not to mention how _much weirder _he would find it if he knew that Ivan has been seeing fucking Nutcrackers all over the place all day.

“Do you have any kids yourself? You seem to know what you’re talking about,” he says, instantly realizing that this was _not_ a good line. For fuck’s sake, that’s the last thing he wants to know.

Gilbert laughs again, but there’s a shadow of bitterness to it this time. “Actually, zhings are complicated so I recently received zhe custody of mein little bruder. And since I’ve alvays taken care of him, I am quite experienced, ja.”

So, he’s like a single parent without actually being a single parent, the ashen-blond thinks.

“Ja, how awesome is zhat?” the German states ironically and Ivan realizes that he’s actually said that out loud. Fuck.

Fuck! He should say something to fix it, it was rude and also kind of out of place to assume that Gilbert is single. Why the hell would he be?! No, only Ivan is single, because he keeps saying stupid things – or not saying anything remotely intelligent – and keeps fucking everything up one way or the other.

There’s a long moment of silence in which he fruitlessly struggles to think of something between nervous drags, after which the door opens brusquely and he’s met with Natalya’s open glare. It only lingers for a moment though before the icy blonde focuses on ushering Gilbert inside, grumbling something about his costume being wet.

The Russian follows sheepishly after flicking the butt over the railing, wondering if he shouldn’t skip the photoshoot after all. He’s done enough shit and wasted enough time already, so maybe it would be better if-

And then, just before disappearing through the door of the studio, Gilbert turns and flashes him a large, cheeky grin.

“Hey Ivan, if I don’t fall from zhe Christmas tree and break mein neck, let’s have coffee later, ja?”

He can only nod slowly, mouth agape, stunned. Now it’s absolutely certain he won’t get any work done today.

**THE END**


End file.
